Moonlight
by greyrondo
Summary: "All I know is that neither of us wanted it. The gods chose us. They're the ones who stole us away from our world and from each other, took away our memories, and turned us into their playthings." Kuja and Zidane struggle against their own perceptions of destiny and karma during the never-ending cycle of battle and remembrance.
1. Chapter 1

As always, I don't own Final Fantasy.

I'll be honest. This started off as a Silkscreen Requiem rewrite that was never meant to see the light of day. In a few places, it still is that rewrite, but early on, Kuja and Zidane decided they had a different story to tell. SR is not required reading, or even optional bonus points reading, for this story. Though if you did read it, and if you remember, then you already know this: your narrators will lie to you, to themselves, and to each other. And that's only when they know what's going on. Sometimes they don't, so they'll lie or tell the truth by pure accident. It's not you. It's them.

The story takes place in an alternate version of the thirteenth cycle, where Kuja walked away from Kefka and kept his memories intact. This is rated M for reasons. Kuja's mind is not a healthy place to be. This is not a slash/incest fic with Kuja and Zidane, but they'd like it if you stuck around anyways.

Enjoy!

- Chapter One -

I am alone in a strange world. Of all things, that's what makes me feel nostalgic for home. And no, no matter how many of the same years I may waste away here, this world will never be anything but strange. To call it anything else would be to call it home, and that would be an insult to the world which made me feel like a stranger for so much of my life.

The waves sigh ragged at the fading end of a day; the sun sets sanguine on the horizon. One of my fondest childhood memories looks just like it, except then it was night, the clouds were smoke from the fires swallowing a thousand souls, and the sun was a gorged and gloating eye.

But enough about my father.

As I walk, I find myself looking over my shoulder, once, twice, an irritated and panicked awareness I've never indulged before. Looking behind, I see that I leave no footprints. This is just one of a thousand peculiarities which makes me wonder, but for now I am only thankful. Still, the sand mutters under the press of my heels. The grasses hush me outright: I'm apparently too loud.

Not that anyone might be looking for me.

I can tell by the sharp scent of stone combating the briny salt on the wind that I've missed a thunderstorm. Pity, I could have used one. The brisk chill in the air is soothing enough, at least until I breathe it in. The cold claws at my raw throat and I stifle my cough. Wouldn't want to spoil the rhythm of the waves.

Or maybe it's no longer sunset. At some point, anyways, the familiar scarlet hue sinks below the horizon and is replaced by empty moonlight for an empty world. It's a wanting white, only a little paler than my skin.

I honestly could not tell if I stopped walking at some point, or if I'm now much further along the shore. I stagger on the sand. My feet hurt, but every part of me hurts. The biting grains get swept up into my skirt. I don't care about any of that right now, because the moonlight strikes a puddle of rainwater in front of me and I can see myself as clearly as if I were staring into my mirror.

For a moment, I consider tearing everything off: ripped jacket, jewelry in disarray, the belts barely hanging off my hips, the supple drape of white fabric askance the silver-furred tail I don't have. But then I would be as naked as the day I was brought into being. No. I need my clothes.

My varnish-tipped fingers skim over my body. A seam restitches itself here, blood works itself out of white there. I delicately touch my fingertip to my cheekbone and wince. Why, I'm not sure. Once again, no, as always, I am flawless.

A blade of grass stirs behind me and I jump.

Just the sound of the world. Just the sound of an empty world. My tails flees under my skirt and I go back to considering my appearance.

If nothing else, I can always count on my reflection.

My porcelain doll's skin. Long moonlight waves that fly whichever way they choose—which is why long is the only option—and steep to violet and blue at the ends in such a perfect way, it must be a genetic defect. The freakish feathers that could only be mine.

I add the red to my eyes myself, of course, every morning. I need something to counterbalance that telling Terran indigo.

My body, stunning and statuesque in how precisely it grotesquely represents Terra's deathly idols. A façade that literally devours me from the inside regardless of how much I eat or drink, paired with a nameless monster that rejects nourishment only moments after consumption. The debutantes and duchesses of Treno had nothing on me, trust me on that one.

Garland and his genius foresight. What business do I have, after all, taking enjoyment from the most necessary aspects of life? As his Angel of Death, even I must agree it's a little counterproductive. In theory.

But he figured out when I was around eight that he wasn't doing himself any favors by giving me more reasons to hate him. The next model was blessedly free of Garland's restraints. Mortality, among others.

Somehow, old man, that didn't win me over.

But how can I forget the tail? As if the other deviations weren't enough, I have this final brand to remind me, every time I dare look at myself without my clothing, that I have him to thank even for the pathetic excuse of a life I do manage to cling to, despite his good intentions.

Yes, I can always count on my reflection to be consistent. No matter how exquisite, I always love how much I hate it.

I truly am a breathtaking mistake. I deserve, uphold and exceed every variation on the definition of 'narcissist'. Such is my beauty that people have this obsession with viewing me as they want me to be, rather than who I am.

Like that other model I mentioned earlier. He thinks….

Somewhere, far, far down, I have a good heart, even if it needs a little dusting. I just need someone who can understand me and embrace me, and maybe eventually love me.

That darling little brother of mine sincerely believes I have some inner wound eating away at me from my strained relationship with our dear father.

Of course that's why I'm so tragically sadistic. It's not my fault. It's all on Garland, my inability to trust people and accept kindness, all of it springing from some deep, buried anxiety of rejection, misplaced emotional hurt, and a lifetime of loneliness.

He doesn't even think I deserve any comeuppance my actions might bring upon me, though even I have to admit that in this world where balance is the ultimate and inescapable law, I spent too long trying to outrun karma.

Zidane just knows I don't really want to seize this world and bring it to its knees. I don't really want to make it rue its very existence from now until eternity do us part.

No. I'm so sorry.

I really, really do.

"Aren't you the pretty little peacock today, strutting about like that?" Mateus sneered at me just today. Unfortunately, he continues to believe that his voice is actually something I want to hear on a regular basis, even though I've told him otherwise.

But if it's not him, it's someone else. They're all so proud of their accomplishments and the years they've steeped themselves in Chaos, as if they actually enjoy it. In their eyes, I simply can't compare.

It's pathetic the way they cling to their superiority. I could laugh, and laugh, and laugh. All day. But that would only make them talk to me more.

"You don't know pain."

"You don't even know darkness, not true darkness."

"You don't belong here with the rest of us."

"You wouldn't know what to do with power if it were handed to you by Chaos himself."

I don't know pain? I haven't touched the true darkness? I don't belong here? If they're so experienced, can't they tell why I'm here in the first place?

Damn them. Damn them all.

I hope that when they finally, truly die, it's because they slip up and do something irrevocably stupid. I hope it's their own mistakes that finally do them in, because it will mean that their precious experience and age were worthless in the end.

And I hope that each of them dies alone.


	2. Chapter 2

As always, I don't own Final Fantasy.

- Chapter Two -

Once upon a time, there was an old dollmaker who lived in the moon. The moon had a name: Terra. It wasn't a moon's name, but that was because it wasn't always a moon. It was once a world all its own, but it was dying. And so, it found a planet named Gaia and tried to steal its life.

The dollmaker looked down to Gaia and sighed with regret, because he was old now, too old to do the work Terra required of him. So he made a doll from test tubes and memories and gave it a soul. The doll was beautiful, but it was also flawed. The dollmaker was disappointed and unable to keep that disappointment to himself, and so he made a second one, less beautiful, but this time, perfect. The flawed doll saw how the dollmaker loved the other doll more, and cast the perfect doll down to Gaia before its time.

Enraged, the dollmaker banished the flawed doll to Gaia while he worked on a copy of the lost, perfect doll. But the dollmaker still expected the flawed doll to do his work for him, because that was the only reason the doll and his brother were created. The flawed doll, furious at the dollmaker for first discarding him and then binding him to his will, swore retribution for the injustice inflicted upon him. The flawed doll decided to usurp the dollmaker's place and restore Terra to a shining rebirth. Even in rebellion, a small part of his soul still wanted to fulfill the dollmaker's wish and prove his worth.

There was only one problem: the flawed doll wasn't the hero of this fairytale. The story wasn't about him at all. It was about the perfect doll, just as it always was.

But I will make this my story. By sheer force of destiny, luck, or stupidity, Zidane reappeared at my feet more than ten years later, just after I had sacrificed a wealth of Gaian souls to Terra's insatiable appetite. I should have killed him then, but I didn't. He continued to drag at my heels at every turn, never quite managing to stop me, never giving me the freedom to act without attracting Garland's suspicion.

Zidane blundered into following me back to Terra, where I confronted our father and I learned just how imperfect I was. Garland revealed to me that my first flaw was my mortality. His hand would destroy me, no matter if I received my retribution or not.

I didn't understand. If the laws of the universe had somehow decided that I deserved death for being Garland's instrument of destruction, then that would have been one thing. But no. I was condemned before I even knew my own name. It was unfair that Zidane was allowed to live, even though he never wasted even a day seeking Garland's approval. If I was going to die, it was only fair that everything else should die as well. And at that point, well, better sooner than later. So even though it didn't matter anymore, I killed Garland, and then I shattered Terra beyond repair.

Now that I think about it, I should have done that the other way around. I should have made him watch as I took away the only thing he ever cared about.

I may have done something rash. I may have taken the souls meant to restore Terra's life and absorbed them into my own vessel, and in the denial of my own mortality I may have given their rage an outlet through my own magic.

The only thought that brought peace to my mind was my wish to end everything on my own terms. So with this newfound power I tore a hole in the world itself and turned my wrath on the source of everything from the beginning to the end: the Crystal.

I realize now that the fairytale has become a little strange. So to set things to rights, it's only appropriate that at this point, Zidane challenged me. It's not right to say that he won, it's not right to say that he lost. I was the one who lost everything.

I fell through space and time and light and darkness and chaos and order and everything in between, and Gaia was saved.

Zidane, proving himself an incurable moron once and for all, got his fairytale endings mixed up. He left his damsel behind and rescued the villain in distress. He made sure that no one ever made me their instrument of destruction ever again, and everyone lived happily ever after, especially after I died. The end.

Oh, right. I'm a liar. But look at me. Can you blame the powers that be for wanting to keep me around a little longer? Possibly forever and ever?

All I know is that neither of us wanted it. The gods chose us. They're the ones who stole us away from our world and from each other, took away our memories, and turned us into their playthings.

The warriors of Cosmos fight the forces of evil; the warriors of Chaos thwart the champions of the good. It's clichéd, but this world runs on cliché, because it only makes sense as long as you don't think to ask the hard questions. What we're fighting over, why there aren't any other people in this entire world besides us, if there's a point.

As far as I can tell, there isn't one. If you die, you'll just spawn right back at the beginning of a fresh cycle of battle stripped of any inconvenient memories which would keep you from doing your job. From then on, you're promised that your memories will return to you, but if only you keep fighting. It starts all over again, and nothing ever stops.

I would like to stop.

It's a cold, hollow morning on the shore and I want to go back to sleep. When I was asleep, it was almost like stopping. Many cycles of battle ago, my father promised me something very close to stopping. He said I would go to sleep, and I wouldn't feel anything anymore. He promised me.

I wanted to die in battle, because at least then I would forget. Then I realized that if I forgot, I would never remember the time I was so desperate I actually believed his lies, no matter how many memories I gained back. He wouldn't have let me die anyways. Such a kind father.

Now, I wonder if I'm not ready to make my new beginning. But that wouldn't stop anything.

Hypothetically, and only hypothetically, I could wander into the Rift. Never wander out again. The entrance to the Rift lays deep, deep in Chaos territory to the north, but the Rift itself does not follow the rules of the rest of the chessboard. Outside the bounds of this strange world, I imagine Garland's first curse would consume me at last. My end would be final.

Behind me, I hear the scuff of gravel under boots. It's a particular scuff I've heard many times before. It's soft, as if someone is trying to be quiet, but not too quiet.

Brother. Come back to me. Take these thoughts away.

I turn around, take a step forward, and the shore disappears. I stand on a dark blue scrap of moonscape. Another suggestion that this world may very well be our collective hell: fragments of the places all the warriors left behind lie scattered across the earth, sometimes in the ruins of gateways leading nowhere, sometimes transient and unmarked. You can step into one and step out on an entirely different continent, or wherever else the fragment may happen to touch the world. Some fragments have a mind of their own, though, and will take you everywhere except where you want to go.

Crackling lightning sears over my shoulder; the scrawling sigils' haze dances in front of my eyes. I duck and come up against the ground hard. Was I just attacked?

Of course I was. I may have left out a few details about my current relationship with my little brother.

Thanks to the earthlight, my hair is practically a beacon. I might as well be sending up fireworks every time I move: here I am, come and get me. I slip into the shadows and draw my form close against the lunar rock.

"Kuja! What have you done with Bartz?" demands an angry, probably unwashed scrap of a boy with blond hair and a matching tail. He grips a blade in each hand as if he thinks he'll actually steal a chance to use them.

Oh, brother. What have I done with Bartz? Is that all you care about?

I judge the direction of Zidane's voice and teleport blind. The echo on the stark cliffs sends me somewhere completely different; nausea creeps up from the pit of my stomach as I find my bearings.

Brittle energy attempts to shackle my feet. I'm so glad he found me. Stealth was becoming boring anyways. I trace the magic to its source and meet him halfway. He's poised on a ledge, ready to lunge.

"It breaks my heart," I tell him from just out of reach, "knowing that I've been thinking about you this entire time we've been apart and all you care about is one of your stupid friends. Doesn't family matter to you at all?"

I gave him so much time to strike, but he didn't make a move. He isn't even giving this conversation his all, is he? Is he holding back for me? How touching.

"Just tell me if he's okay," he insists.

I let a sulk slip into my voice. "It makes me so happy that you've asked. I feel fantastic."

But really, what have I done with Bartz? I don't think I've done anything with Bartz, now that I think about it. I haven't even seen Bartz this cycle. As Zidane's undeniably caring big brother, I think that should make me concerned, because that would mean he is spending more time alone. I would expect it out of Squall, but not him. He needs people. Especially his best friend.

Magic wells up in my limbs, aching to be released. I set it free and dart away before I'm snared in the lovely result.

Or not so lovely, as I watch the starlight energy blossom anemically around him. Disappointing. It would seem my magic isn't where it usually is. I couldn't fathom why, but incantations fail to come unhindered to my lips. I stumble over spells that are more familiar to me than poetry. I can't keep them together in my mind. My distracted efforts manifest broken and fractured.

By that, I mean that I'm going easy on him because I want to toy with him more than I want to win.

"Stop screwing around!" he snarls and flies at me.

I'm not screwing around, thank you very much. And this is very serious. "If you want me to sing, you'll have to wait until we've caught up."

He lashes out at me and then plummets downwards. But I'm not ready for him to leave me just yet, so I send out a ribbon of blue light to catch him.

Suddenly he's heading towards me again. He stops and stumbles, shakes his head, disoriented. Last time he checked, he was heading for the ground with all of gravity's blessings. Take the opportunity, moron. Try and land one single strike on me before I get impatient and start standing still.

He does. A tidal surge of power roars and sends me flying. Magic buoys me, but I still scrape my palms on the unforgiving rock before I recover. That was almost a respectable blow, if it didn't come from Garland's preferred Angel of Death. You may not care, Zidane, but I have higher standards.

He glares at me and I can tell how angry it's made him that I've stood back up without so much as a tremor.

In the admittedly awkward silence, I hear a call Zidane cannot perceive. It stirs the furious souls dormant inside of me, as if just its echo could move the earth and stars and planes beyond all. It has no words; it has only a voice in the most primal sense, as if my senses aren't enough to experience its true depth. When it pulls me, its reverberations twist my dreams for days afterward. It's the call of Chaos.

I ignore it. I'm doing something more important right now.

"It's unhealthy for you to bottle up your emotions like that. Tell me all about how lonely you are," I taunt him.

He throws his daggers aside and our fight devolves into a fight only brothers could have: unchoreographed, impulsive, ugly. There's something cathartic about the way my heartbeat rises and I forget the magic literally at my fingertips. It flows complete and unhindered now; he's drawing out the untamed Terran magic we both share. If I were thinking, I might think he was doing it on purpose.

"Are you just doing this for the attention or something?" he says. "Don't you have any friends on your side? Oh right, you're incapable of making real friends."

"'Incapable' is a big word for you. Good job." A small part of me is absolutely sure he's doing this on purpose. But the suggestion that I could ever be friends with any of the other warriors of Chaos is downright insulting.

"Yeah? I've got a few more that you might like. How about desperate? Miserable? Maybe… lonely?"

That's enough. I tackle him.

"Shut up! As if I would ever trust any of them for a second—"

It would have almost been worth letting him get to me, if I had looked Zidane's indigo eyes at that moment and known I'd done the same. But he's still got that same smug face on, like he's waiting for what's next.

Just as I snap back, his expression crystallizes into pure hatred. A heavy hand suddenly yanks me backward. I look up from the ground. Garland?

"Get up," he growls.

"Holy Lord God of imprisoned marionettes, the heavens and Terra are filled with thy glory," I beam. "How about I don't get up, and you go find yourself a cliff to jump off so I don't have to help you this time?"

His armor is no longer a tarnished husk; his grizzled hair and heartless cataracts are masked by a vile helmet with the horns of a demon. It's true that the Garland before us looks nothing like our Garland, but it's him, surely enough.

"Stop playing with your brother and come with me. You heard my call. Don't make me come and get you ever again."

Were you feeling nostalgic, old man? That sounds like something a father would say.

With as much dignity as I can muster, I draw myself to my feet. Zidane leaps to his and instinctively grabs for his daggers, only to remember he threw them aside. What can he possibly be thinking? No one's challenging him.

But I can't forget that look of hate he gave our old man, or that Zidane didn't react when Garland called him my brother. I wonder how many memories he has left to recover.

"'Scuse me, it's rude to interrupt," Zidane says then. He even has the audacity to step in between Garland and myself.

He never learned what Garland's impatient voice sounded like, or that it wasn't to be crossed. Garland swiftly grasps him by the collar.

"Know your place," he says and tosses him aside. Before Zidane gets the chance to recover, he places a firm hand on my shoulder and drags me out of the blue lunar world.

As if Garland had suddenly cast on a light in the dark, my eyes sting at the transition into storm-choked sunlight. We are now far beyond the boundaries of Chaos' territory, much farther north than where I was when I entered the lunar fragment. I walk in silence in his shadow. I'm mulling over Zidane's oddly protective turn when we draw close to the physical memory of Chaos' shrine, marked by a rambling, crumbling stone gate.

I step under the arch and the grass under my feet instantly transforms into gray rubble.

Garland stops and turns around to look down at me. His gauntlet closes around my collar before I even know to react.

He pulls me up to meet his eyes. It's a long way, and I'm comparatively short. If I were truly aiming for pity, then I would share a tear-jerking instant from a long chain of abuse. I would recall him holding me up there until I choke on my own armor, followed by a heart-wrenching elaboration of the perfectly painful way that he throws me into the jagged stone wall. I would add the sympathy-ensuring coup de grace, that he doesn't even flinch when I touch my back and my palm returns to me wet with my own blood.

But I don't want pity. I despise pity, except when I'm giving it. So the truth is that I respond with my usual magic—the most advanced thunder magic that can be cast—and he releases me without a scratch. Electricity and armor don't mix so well, after all.

"You'd do well to obey me with more promptness in the future," he recommends. "I will send you to Pandaemonium if you continue to defy me."

Pandaemonium is not real. Pandaemonium is just a fairytale Garland composed to keep his warriors in line. I know that little secret because Pandaemonium was the name of our old family home on Terra.

"Of course, Father," I sneer, and smirk. To him, hearing that word from a failure such as me must be a slap in the face. But I suppose that's why I fail him in the first place: I have a backbone.

He doesn't bite the bait today. He simply continues without me.

I don't even notice the scarred and tattooed man standing there until I feel his coarse, callused hand brush my hair back from my face. "Need a hand?"

I don't recognize him. Not as a warrior of Chaos. If memory serves correctly, his name is Jecht. Tidus is his son.

"What do you think you're doing?" I snap at him, practically baring my fangs as I glare up at him. "Don't touch me," I add in disdain before he can come up with some pathetic response, and I slap his hand away with the back of mine.

The blow smarts and he withdraws immediately. My nails aren't long and filed to a razor edge because I think they look prettier that way.

"You sure? You're bleeding," Jecht says, unfazed.

Tidus is another warrior of Chaos. He's even younger than I am, but since he's new, no one pays him any attention, the same way you wouldn't encourage a hyperactive baby chocobo. I suppose Tidus just isn't as much fun as I am.

He hates his father so vehemently, I feel like I'm not even trying in comparison. You would think that would give us something to talk about, but you would be wrong. I tell him I think the word 'imbecile' is too good for him, and he calls me some slurs that aren't even very creative, proving me right. We don't get along.

Jecht pauses. I know that pause. Pauses like that are filled with pity.

I'm caught off guard. When dealing with heroic, idiotic types, such pauses are an art to be cultivated, because they are the ultimate predecessor to a change of heart followed by a helping hand, whether that hand is wanted or not.

And then I become afraid. Because such pauses only occur when the heroic idiot stumbles upon enough evidence to sway his mind from logos to heart-meltingly moronic pathos.

How much did Jecht see?

"Jecht, what are you doing?" A voice calls. "Leave him be." I know that voice, because it once incited me to murder. It belongs to Golbez, a mage who hides every inch of his form in thorny armor crafted from starlight and the blue darkness between the constellations. It was his fragment where I met Zidane earlier.

Is Golbez helping the forces of Cosmos spy on Chaos?

No. That's ridiculous. And I will admit to being ridiculous, sometimes. Possibility, after all, is really too much fun to not entertain. The minor head injury might also have something to do with it.

Golbez wouldn't dare make such a bold move. He's more cautious than I am. At the beginning of the last cycle, without once speaking to each other about it, we somehow came to the agreement that we would never even be seen looking at each other. The agreement was no triumph of mine, or of his. Desperate for a kindred soul, he sensed a disquiet in me that was all his, and worse, he tried to talk to me about it.

"Is what Kefka says true?" he asked out of nowhere one day.

"No," I answered instinctively. Then I sighed. "What is it that Kefka says," I asked blankly. My voice communicated apathy that I typically reserve for close friends.

"Well, one could say that you're Garland's canary."

I almost choked right then and there. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I composed myself instead. "In my world, being someone's 'canary' refers to someone's true love. I pray to everything that might be conceived of as a god that we don't share that interpretation."

"Strange," he said, and shook his head. "I suppose I would have to come from your world. Aren't canaries the birds that are sacrificed?"

"I don't follow…"

"Their keepers raise them so they can be brought down in cages into the mines, so that at the first scent of poisonous gasses, the canary will die as a sign for the miners to leave the area."

"I'm not Garland's pet anymore, if that's what you're trying to say," I told him as calmly as I could.

"Of course not. Why else the cage?"

I had no response to that. And I told him so.

"You're a brave one then, singing even as you're perfectly aware of the bars. That way, he won't know how much you hate him."

"Oh, he knows how much I hate him." And then I stopped, and I realized the conversation I was having was the one conversation I told myself I would never have. A few words of sympathy from a stranger, and I was singing like a bird. How pitiful.

"Why are you here, Golbez," I suddenly demanded, turning on him. He couldn't meet my eyes without looking down at me, so I didn't bother to meet his.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you 'don't know'?" I asked, keeping my voice cool as it sifted through his pathetic response. And then I understood that his answer was correct, but for a different question.

"You see, I died fulfilling Cosmos' will. I don't know why I'm here, when I'm as loyal to her as my," he paused, and shook his head, "as Cecil."

"Maybe Chaos just likes you more," I said with a smirk.

After that, one would think he would have decided I wasn't the best conversation partner. But he didn't. It was just the beginning.

It made me sick. It came to the point where I wanted to kill him myself every time he spoke to me, until one blissful day he just left me alone. From that day on, when I noticed him watching over his little brother Cecil, sworn to Cosmos, I pretended I didn't. In that way, we came to the understanding he craved.

Sometimes when I'm feeling particularly masochistic, I'll entertain the possibility of what might have happened instead if I'd only asked for his help before my little mistake during the last cycle.

Jecht stands up and turns to Golbez after a long while. "You're right," he says. "The kid can obviously handle himself," he says as if he doesn't quite believe it.

"Don't you dare—"

… don't you dare look down on me. They aren't listening. Golbez is already leading Jecht through the same arch Garland walked through only a minute before.

I'm confused. This must be how Zidane feels every second he's awake. I'm sure he's resigned himself to it, but personally, I could do without.

I feel the faintest twinge of guilt, I really do. Letting him believe I'm the reason Bartz is gone might have been convenient for me, but now he's been left on the other side of an ocean, wondering how he can get the best of me when he could be doing something useful with his time. Like saving the world

This world doesn't deserve to be saved. I rise and take a moment to compose myself before I make my entrance before Chaos' finest.

The red carpet beneath my feet has been worn thin. Even the only occasional press of bodies, spread over centuries, will eventually destroy anything that is not cared for. I can't imagine a single one of the people standing in this hall doing something so degrading as maintaining this rotting temple. Somehow, the demonic portraits in the four corners and the formidable throne are as new as the day their mad creator coaxed them from their base materials.

Some of my favorite people in this entire world look at me from their various places as I take a quiet space as far away from anyone else as I can while still pretending I want to be included in the conversation. The old hag dressed like a whore who would insist upon being called a courtesan is Ultimecia. She stands a little apart from Kefka, the deranged soul in streaked clown makeup, as if even she wouldn't want to be seen with him.

It seems unfair to isolate Kefka without proper explanation, even though Kefka himself is reason enough. But we're all mad here, so how did the pied nihilistic piper go above and beyond?

"Well, they were right. You're certainly much prettier than the Cloud of Darkness or Ultimecia. And shorter, too!" he said when he cornered me during our charming meeting during the last cycle. It probably wasn't the first time he'd spoken to me, but I wasn't exactly in the position to respond before then.

Curious about where this was going, I chose to let him keep talking. Even I think of bad ideas, sometimes. Like Zorn and Thorn. Anyways.

"Maybe you and my little Terra could become girlfriends. Comb each other's hair, pick out each other's outfits…"

That was when he tried to touch the feathers in my hair.

"I'm a boy, thank you very much," I seethed. With disgust, I curled my own hand over his offensive wrist and snapped it away.

"And a little, little boy is what you are, certainly enough!" he cackled as his half-melted brain finally processed that he needed to back off, and quickly.

"But your eyes," he said, staring me down. No, not staring. Gazing, lovingly. "I can tell you wanted it. A kindred soul! You're just like me. You understand more than these idiots ever will: that life is a bad jest, at best! You needed it: oblivion, the end to everything, the final beautiful swansong of suicide!"

Suicide.

That's ridiculous. Tearing a hole in time itself, tracing my way back to the beginning of my own world, threatening the Crystal while practically begging for Zidane to come and stop me. It wasn't suicide. No. Not me. Not suicide, I could never.

Suicide is unforgivable. It is the act of ultimate sorrow for one's self. I love myself; too much, even. Suicide is giving up. I'm not Sephiroth.

I stay away from Kefka because he's obviously too far gone for anyone's help. He's wrong.

Not that Golbez and his improv therapy sessions were anywhere near right.

Golbez is standing right there next to Jecht in broad daylight. I quickly scan the rest of the room. Tidus isn't here, and with Garland clearing his throat to begin our group heart-to-heart, I don't think he's expected.

What happened? Is Jecht now one of us? Did we trade? Is that what passes for fun between the gods of order and discord? Don't we mean anything to them?

Cloud and Terra are also gone. Good. I didn't want them here anyways.

If Golbez wants to stay out of trouble, he shouldn't be standing next to Jecht. Dynamics and loyalties are a subtle thing when everyone is equally treacherous, and everyone is watching.

There are those like me who desire power. And there are those, not like me, who need it. Who swarm like sharks to blood in the water, who are so insatiable in their gluttonous never-ending consumption that their own existence becomes nothing more than a means to an end. Exdeath, the baubled suit of armor across the aisle from me, is one of those.

My father is not. He almost is, but while I despise him, even I cannot go so far as to ignore that he has rules. Standards. Chivalry, because believe it or not, some of us do have our own brand of chivalry here on the dark side. It's just not something seen every day.

I'm sure I'm breaking someone else's rules when I delight in the delicious aftertaste of suffering and discord, the bittersweet and decadent dark chocolate of sadism. From what I've been told, Sephiroth was even more rehearsed in psychological torture than I am.

At the end of the day, we still give a moment of thought to our little lists of do's and don'ts. The Cloud of Darkness has a sort of sincerity in that she is only following her natural drive to return everything to the balance of nothingness. Golbez and I have our agreement. Garland regards his duty with utmost care and nothing less.

As he addresses us, he stands beside Chaos' empty throne. I get it, Garland, we all get it. We are nothing more than Chaos' humble servants. If you, our leader, are not worthy of sitting on that throne, none of us are.

Everyone else is looking at Garland except for Emperor Mateus, who is looking at me. I didn't even notice he was there. He just slipped my mind, really. He should maybe work on wearing something more noticeable, maybe that will do it. Someone should tell him it's all right to embrace his ego here amongst the warriors of Chaos, instead of burying it beneath a subtle layer of gold armor that could outshine Cosmos herself.

I match his painted eyes and do not smile. Ordinarily, I would. People are idiots. They see a smile and they think they hear 'yes'. But not him.

Faith doesn't pay for security in this circle.

There never were any rules with Mateus. Suggestions, ideas, perversions, yes. He will do anything and he cares not for how his actions will remark on his own image. Only a fool cannot tell that he wants nothing more than to eliminate Garland in the most painful, dominating way possible.

If Garland truly wants to make sure no one attempts to usurp his position, he should stop watching what I'm doing, and banish that one into the Rift. He would do all of us a favor.

No one ever told Mateus it's impolite to stare at someone when someone else is talking.

"Count me down for attendance," I call out to Garland as soon as he's done with the niceties. "And now I'm bored. I bid you all farewell."

I leave the shrine behind in a ribbon of blue light. The outside air of this empty world is so refreshing that I find myself taking deep, steadying breaths. I spend the next half hour of reassuring solitude putting as much distance between myself and the gate as I can without wearing myself out or taking a chance on one of the fragmented worlds, which could just as quickly send me right back where I came from in my less than entirely focused state.

I sit down, hard, in the shade of a rocky outcrop. I lean into the cool stone as if it were capable of giving an embrace.

Like I said before, possibility is a wonderful thing to entertain. The imagination is almost as fantastic of a construction as a nightmare, for distracting from the real. But is this world real?

I can taste the ice on the wind. I can feel pain in it. But this world cannot possibly be real, not like mine. It is a consensus world, composed of beautiful, blade-sharp shards of the worlds that were stolen from us.

I don't want to be here right now. I need to go back to sleep.

Sloth is one of the most beautifully indulgent sins, almost as delightful as lust. Don't get me wrong: I spend as much time doing nothing as I ever did, but the fact that serving Chaos necessitates rest takes all the fun out of luxuriously lounging about.

It's really not fair. Gluttony was, after all, barred from me, even before I came into this world in which we feed on light and darkness alone. I suppose drinking in excess would have the same eventual rewards as sloth, but the last thing an Angel of Death needs to do is lose his sense of judgment.

Am I greedy, prideful? Perhaps. I can't think of any particular incident, but I don't doubt it. I'm certainly greedy for anything that resembles an ordinary life, but I wonder if that's closer to wrath. Indignant wrath, directed towards Garland for cursing me with the nature of my existence.

In fact, I'm entirely certain that I'm irrevocably guilty of every sin that I can possibly trespass onto, except for envy.

Zidane.

I'm just about to think I've been forgotten about when a whirlwind of mismatched color and pattern scurries up to me.

"Kujie-coo, what's wrong with you? Why are you lying there like an unstrung marionette? Aw, come on, you can tell me, we're friends, aren't we?"

'Friends' is not a word I would sincerely use. I've long since given up trying to tell Kefka how to properly pronounce the surprisingly easy two syllables of my name. Reluctantly I sit up. Dignity can be so exhausting sometimes. I can almost see why people like Kefka have abandoned it. If the clown wants my attention so badly, he can have it.

I hazard a guess. "Kefka, what have you done with the warrior of Cosmos named Bartz?"

He squeals. It's a terrifying sound. "Oh, did you like that? I stole him away just for you."

"That's what I was afraid of. What if you told me where he is?"

"If I give you Bartz, what will you give me in return?"

Excuse me? Sweetly, I reply, "I thought you'd done it for me."

Still standing, Kefka leans over me and props himself up with a hand pressed against the rock. He blocks the sun and his grin becomes a ghast's sickening smile. "Will you replace the plaything you broke?"

Kefka can have an awfully good memory when he wants to. What he doesn't want to remember is that I've paid more than enough in exchange. "All I did was unlock that little bird's cage," I reply. "She was the one who chose to fly out the door."

"I spy with my little eye something silver. What could it be? Why, it's a prettier bird than the one I had before." He is no longer smiling. "It used to belong to Garland. And now it belongs to whoever can catch it. Some of us think they can catch it by breaking its little wings. But I know that all I have to do is put something the bird likes inside the cage, and then, snap! Close the door before it can escape."

"Oh, I get it," I say with my best faked genuine laugh. "When you told me that you stole him away just for me, you meant you wanted to use him as bait for Zidane, so that I would be forced to do anything you wanted if I ever wanted to try killing him myself ever again. Clever."

Kefka looks disappointed. "I hadn't thought of that."

"No, I didn't think so. Bartz survived the last cycle with his memories intact, didn't he?"

"You know, from the sound of his complaining, I think he did. Why, what's it to you?"

I wince delicately. "That could make things complicated. Zidane hates me and Bartz wants me dead. I couldn't get near either of them without starting a fight. Not that I'd lose," I say quickly. Too quickly. Now Kefka knows I don't think I could fight Bartz and escape unscathed.

His grin returns. "No hope for reconciliation, is there?"

I shake my head and give a little shrug. "There's always hope. Isn't that what Cosmos tells us?"

"A joke like that could get you in trouble again," he says with a chuckle. "Some of our comrades might think you actually believe it. But if you're willing to give it a go… there's a gateway that leads to a little hideaway of mine. It's on a little spit of land not far from the gateway we just left…"

He would jump at the opportunity to remind me, wouldn't he. But I'll let it go, because he's sure I think I've tricked him. How adorable. He's having one of his more lucid days, and he doesn't even know it.


	3. Chapter 3

As always, I don't own Final Fantasy.

Sorry for not updating in three months. This chapter had a lot going on at once and then I said yes to too many projects for work and suddenly it was the end of April.

Enjoy!

- Chapter Three -

I step into Kefka's fragment and my heart flutters in panic. I haven't been here in such a long time. My mind dips back down into memory. I see the tinned lights of a laboratory and suddenly I've returned to Terra. I'm frayed at the edges and my thoughts drip slowly.

I recover. This looks nothing like Terra. There's something hurried and utilitarian about the way the pipes thread through the weathered stone. Fixating on my ugly surroundings makes it easier to banish the childlike apprehension conjured by the cylindrical glass prisons.

I decide to take a risk. "Bartz, are you here?" I call out as I rest my hand on a rusted railing. I don't receive a response, but as I sweep my gaze over the glass, I see a brown-haired tatterdemalion sitting in the base of one of the cylinders, propped up by the clouded pane. I teleport the distance.

"You can't enjoy being closed in like this," I say to him. I lay my palm gently on the glass in what I hope translates as a gesture of kindness.

He opens his eyes and he blinks back drowsiness. He stares at me, eyes rich with hatred. "Let me out of here," he demands, his voice muffled. "What do you even want?"

I'm hurt more than I would ordinarily admit. "Believe it or not, I'm here to help."

Bartz starts, sits up, and looks at me like he's just seen me for the first time. "It's you? It's really, really you. Completely you," he says cautiously.

"Of course it is," I reply quietly. "I'd like to save you from this dreariness. And then I'd like to talk to you."

"I knew it was you, really," he says quickly, "I was just, you know, being careful."

How kind of him. I could almost be convinced he cares about my feelings. It's a rare gesture, and while I'm not fooled, it won't go unappreciated.

"Bartz," I say as I dissolve the glass into a few stray grains of sand, "I don't know when you last saw my brother, but I haven't lost—"

Sturdy boots tramp up the thin metal stairs.

"Stay right where you are. Don't hurt him. If you do, I'll have to make you regret it."

This is turning into a proper reunion, isn't it? Sorry, poor choice of words. I throw on a smile and turn around to face a man with spiked blond hair in dark and rough clothing, literally carrying the weight of the shadows wearing him down. His gargantuan wedge of a blade catches the light coldly. Beside him stands a slip of a young woman with blond curls, wearing patterned silks and a long cloak.

I have to admit, they look well. Cloud and Terra must not remember a thing. Neither of them can hold my stare, because no one likes the hold the stare of a stranger for so long.

I despise seeing them with their shadows locked away behind their eyes. Those shadows would tell them who they should fear instead of me. What a paltry reward for being good soldiers, even now that they're on the other side. Still, I wouldn't want anything else for them. I'm happy for them, honestly.

"Hey," says Bartz as he steps down from the platform, "let's calm down for a second. Why don't we just talk this over real quick? I almost had him."

"You almost had me?" I repeat as I fold my arms across my chest. "I'm embarrassed for you."

I delicately shake my head. _Not much time for talk, I'm afraid. Kefka thinks he's set me up for a trap. He thinks you're going to attack me and leave me weakened. It's a miracle he hasn't shown up already. When he gets here and sees Terra…_

_Kuja, give me some warning next time. _Communicating this way is a little less comfortable for Bartz than for me, since he's letting me into his thoughts, not projecting them to me.

"Not much to talk over," Cloud replies. "Bartz, let's just get you out of here. I don't want any trouble right now," he says firmly. He's talking to me.

_He'll try to take her back, won't he? But he's outnumbered. And with you, it would be ridiculous. Heck, we could take him by ourselves. Let Cloud and Terra make a run for it._

Bartz wants to see me take a stand. If I were him, I would want the same thing. All my assurances don't amount to anything until I commit to them. It's not that easy. He doesn't understand.

_I can't… I can't do that._

"Cloud," I say. I know I sound like some wounded animal, but I can't help myself. "Don't you remember me?" I attempt to tread in his mind as well, in hopes that he'll remember he's allowed me in before. He forces me out. Of course. Cloud's had plenty of practice keeping the voices quiet.

"No," replies Cloud firmly. "I don't."

"I know he's a warrior of Chaos," says Terra with that birdsong-soft voice of hers. Speaking for herself must still be new to her. "That being said, Bartz must want to talk for a reason. Perhaps we should hear him out."

Cloud shakes his head. "Maybe if he weren't so famous for his silver tongue."

Zidane, don't be such a gossip. "Forget it," I snap. "All you two idiots need to do is to take Bartz and get out of here—"

"Look who's all here. Kujie-coo, how did you know exactly who to invite to my party?"

My fingers curl in on themselves until I feel my nails pressing tiny half-moons into my palms. I can tell that's Kefka even before he uses that abhorrent pet name. Only Kefka has such infuriatingly precise timing. Though to be fair, I'm the one who wasted the time they could have spent fleeing this place.

His bounding pace strikes the stairs as his cackle fills the air. How melodramatic. I've never done something so clichéd.

I take that back.

"Didn't expect to find Sephiroth's puppet here as well. I could catch 'em all!"

A flicker of recognition crosses Cloud's face. Trust me, my dear friend, now is not a good time for that conversation.

_Well, I know the drill, _I relay to Bartz. _I'll play my part and you will all escape with your lives. I'll expect you to take the lead, since I can't clue in these two._

"You could," I say to Kefka with an obsequious familiarity that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. "Or you could let me do the honors."

He looks at me with surprise, and then with hardened glee. "I suppose I could give you the chance to make things up to me. Just don't screw it up."

"Please." I turn on the three people I'm going to save, whether they like it or not.

_You can't fight all of us without taking some damage, you know. Terra's still pretty shaky, _Bartz warns me. _I guess Kefka's trap works out after all._

_Luck wins out over intelligence every time. _

_Sounds like the life of a warrior of Cosmos_, he replies. There's a sad smile to the sound of his thoughts. Don't do that to me. Don't make me feel guilty for sacrificing myself for the lot of you. That's not what I'm doing. I just don't want to see my hard work from the last cycle go to waste.

I don't want to leave so much as a scratch on Terra's lovely face, and frankly, I'm not the least bit excited to face her in her half-tamed tranced form. If I don't go for her first, though, Kefka might help. I hate it when he tries to help. He ruins everything.

Bartz plays along and protects her. I go easy on the starlight magic I cast, knowing that Kefka is watching me to see if I'll miss. I buckle under Bartz's parry and when he attacks me again, I pretend to be hurt. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Terra shaking like a reed in the wind.

First a gale ties me down, then I'm struck with the blunt side of Cloud's colossal sword across my bare stomach.

I stagger back, to my own embarrassment, and unable to catch my breath, I sink to my knees. I heal myself with a whim of intent, but I stay where I am. Then I see the power shifting in Terra's eyes.

I leap to my feet. "Sorry," I say and I shove Bartz out of the way. Cloud has more sense. He's already backed off. I want to apologize to Terra, as well, but I just send a volley of energy her way. I form a plan as she catches alight.

She'll trance. I'll take a few blows. Then she'll slip out and will likely pass out afterwards. Then I will pretend I can't so much as stand, at which point these two boys will carry her away to safety and the only one who will be in trouble will be me.

Terra doesn't remember when I set her free. Cloud doesn't remember all the time we spent as the truest and closest definition of comrades as any warriors of Chaos could safely be. Even Zidane only remembers what I'd like to forget. Bartz will tell him all about this and even after that, Zidane will think it was just another one of my tricks. All efforts are worthless in this world, because everything is undone. Memories are worthless. Friends are worthless.

The meek girl is now gone, replaced by a humanoid beast surging with raw magical energy. I see the opportunity to dispel the charge before it reaches me. For some reason, though, I don't. I let it hit me and I let her power run wild. The pain runs me through and leaves me gasping for some respite.

Terra returns to her recognizable form and stares at her now-destroyed surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. She totters forward on her heels, steadying herself with a hand pressed firmly against the stone wall. She looks at me as if she's afraid to let me know she's sorry.

She doesn't collapse as planned. I'm beginning to gather myself together, figuring out my next move. I consider surreptitiously knocking her out myself when Bartz plants himself firmly between Kefka and me.

"Hey," says Bartz. He stands up a little straighter and looks at me like he made up a plan of his own. Cosmos help us all. "Let's take him with us."

"What?" Cloud asks before I can get to the same question. "Did you just suggest we take a warrior of Chaos hostage?"

Bartz gives an easy shrug. "Sure. Why not?"

"That's not what we do, is it?" asks Terra weakly.

"Not really. Maybe that's why we're losing," replies Bartz in a dementedly cheerful voice. "Come on, he's not as high-maintenance as he looks. And Garland would make some serious deals to get him back. Isn't that right, Kefka?"

"That worthless brat? He'd tell you to go ahead and take him and bring him back when you're done with him." He's dancing anxiously on his toes. Surely he realizes the odds aren't exactly in his favor anymore. That delightful coward.

"Really? That's awesome!" Bartz says, beaming. "Thanks. I owe you one." He walks over to me and hooks his hands under my arms without so much as first offering a hand for me to turn down. I don't need his help in order to stand. I'm not that badly beaten, thank you. I did this to myself.

"Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?"

"That's right, you just keep that up," he replies. We're having a different conversation than the one Cloud and Terra think we're having. _This is it. I'm taking you to Cosmos myself,_ he tells me silently.

"No, you can't—"

"Don't play quite so hard to get," he mutters as I'm righted to my feet.

_No. You literally can't._

His grip on me goes slack. He's not trying very hard to make sure his new hostage doesn't run away. _You don't mean…_

_It's gone._

"On second thought," Kefka says with a curious laugh, "why don't you just give him back. He requires special care. Like an exotic pet. Quite particular. I'd be doing you a favor, really."

Sounds like Kefka decided I was worth the effort after all. I'm so glad.

_I'll take care of this_, says Bartz. _It's okay. It doesn't matter. We'll figure out the rest. You're smart. You'll think of something._

"I didn't think I was going to be fought over today," I reply with a mockery of a coy laugh. _I'm not worth this. If you die, then who will I use to get through to Zidane? Squall? Give me a break._

_Squall will come back around sooner or later. Let's be real, you didn't leave him with a good impression. _Before Bartz has the chance to do anything fatally stupid, Kefka cries out in exaggerated agony. We have company.

I recognize Golbez immediately. The other, not so readily. It's only after they step into the bitter light that I remember Jecht is now on Chaos' side. Why are you here? Turn around. Go away.

"Seriously?" Kefka moans and slumps over. "Just when it was getting good!"

He should really set higher standards. I hate him so much that I can hardly bite back the taunts that rise like bile in my throat. It feels so good, though, to watch him realize his plans have been derailed. I'll be satisfied with that for today. Now, to figure out what Jecht and Golbez intend.

"What's Jecht doing, hanging out with one of your best buddies?" Bartz murmurs. He's forgetting himself in the shock of seeing a warrior of Cosmos turned. I don't have an answer for him.

"Save it for someone who cares, Kefka," Jecht calls over, his voice booming over the stifling chambers. "Garland's orders: pick up the kid."

I am not a child. I haven't been a child for a while. Technically, I've never been a child. I learned what the word truly meant long after the fact. I like to pretend I had a childhood because that's the only word that makes sense.

"I can't work like this! Tell him to expect a word or two from me!" Kefka contains his oncoming tantrum long enough to make a fuming exit.

I shrug out of Bartz's grip. Before he can protest or do something heroic, I take one last look at Cloud and Terra and resign myself to Golbez's company. I don't understand what's happening, but I doubt Golbez would agree to do anything that would directly hurt me. This is also better for Bartz, and he knows it.

_You're not getting out of this that easy, _he insists. _I'll be back. With Zidane. That's a promise._

_Don't make any promises you can't keep. _

I tune back in to what's physically happening around me in time to hear Jecht tell Cloud, "What do you say? You go your way, we'll go ours."

"That's all we wanted in the first place," Cloud agrees.

I get to watch them leave while I'm trapped between Jecht and Golbez. They don't say another word until after they drag me out of Kefka's fragment. We end up by a sandy delta in the middle of who knows where. I suppose I actually do know where we are, but everything looks the same and I don't care. At the risk of sounding like a nice person, who I'm with is more important than where I am. It would be even nicer if I were alone.

"Golbez. When did you become such an idiot? You're jeopardizing your own goals by interfering with me. Though I'll admit lying to Kefka was a halfway decent idea," I tell Jecht. "What did Golbez give you in exchange? I hope he didn't promise I would be doing anything for you, because I'm already doing you a favor by being here."

"You're pretty full of yourself, aren't you?" Jecht replies, proving that he's spent more listening to the others talk about me than paying attention to my sarcasm.

"What can you be thinking?" Golbez interrupts. "This isn't some power play. Do you believe that if I knew you were in trouble, I would ignore your plight for my own safety? Do you think I'm that afraid of being sent to Pandaemonium?"

"Pandaemonium? Pandaemonium doesn't exist here," I snap. "Pandaemonium is from my world, and there's not a trace of it anywhere. I think I would know."

"Pandaemonium is real," Golbez insists. "Don't you remember Leon? Kadaj? Riku?"

The names of the lost resound deeper within me than I would care to admit. "They went to the Rift," I say. My voice trembles. That's not quite what happened. Not that it will ever be Golbez's business. "But if, on the off chance, Pandaemonium is real, then you've just given me more of a reason to put as much distance between us as possible, for our own sakes. One of us should think about this rationally."

"I would like you to come with us. Jecht would like that as well."

He wasn't even listening to me. I don't believe for an instant that I somehow won Jecht over with my brief but unforgettable performance when we were gathered together earlier.

I am silent. Golbez takes a deep breath. "What can I do to earn your trust. And your company."

Why do you want it so badly? I want him to answer that question, but that would be a waste of the offer. I feel their eyes on me. The genuine offer of protection would objectively be welcome. I could never ask for that.

"Let's talk," I say. I turn to Jecht. "No offense. I know you're dying to get to know me, but this is a conversation for Golbez and myself."

Jecht looks skyward for a moment as if asking the heavens for patience. "None given, none taken. You two hash this out. Don't take forever." He settles down on a low boulder like that was all he wanted to do all along. He sets his blade at an angle against the ground.

Might as well, I want to reply, considering that we might have forever. Instead I allow Golbez to lead me away. "What are you doing with him?" I mutter to him as we walk out of earshot.

"Here we are," he says softly as a breeze in the air of a summer night, "talking. I didn't think I would find myself here."

"You won't for much longer if you continue to waste my time. The weather's nice, isn't it? Of course it is. There, we're done. Now please explain Jecht."

I don't have to see his eyes to know he's looking at me with an expression filled with an angel's relentless compassion. "I decided to intervene, in case The Emperor thought he might want to claim him. I'm not certain about the details, but I know it was The Emperor who brought Jecht before Chaos and decided to make him one of us."

"Oh," I breathe. "He just decided. And that was that, wasn't it?"

"Yes. That was that." Golbez stops walking and turns to me. "What happened between the two of you?"

"Honestly? No more than I'm sure you've heard. I just couldn't help but take it personally."

"What you did was—"

"Stupid," I interrupt. "What I did was stupid. If you want to earn my trust and my company, you'll continue what I was trying to do when you so boldly and gallantly chose to rescue me. I know you move freely enough so that you can have a word with Cecil whenever you wish. I'd like you to reach out to Zidane on my behalf."

That would be good, wouldn't it, if Golbez were the messenger?

Golbez is aching to return to his earlier question, but he's patient. More patient than I am. "What would you like me to tell him?"

"Meet me in the shadow of the Crystal. I will be there at moonrise tomorrow and I will stay as long as I can afford to do so safely. I only want to talk."

He gives me a long and gracious sigh. "I know you won't ask for my advice, so I'll give it to you anyways. I can't recommend it. Not now. Kuja, think about what just happened. Kefka is still fixated upon you, even with the cycle begun anew. I saw how Emperor Mateus regarded you earlier. Lie low and bide your time."

Don't tell me to bide my time. I've spent more than enough time here. I don't want to be here forever.

"Do this and you will earn as much of my trust as anyone in this pitiful world is ever going to get. As for my company and time, I owe that first to my brother. You of all people should understand that."

He looks at me for a long, long time. I'm sure he's going to tell me that he won't, but his shoulders sink and he says, "Very well, then. If you've already admitted that what you're doing is stupid, I can only hope you'll exercise caution. But please, stay with Jecht until I return."

Thank you, Golbez. "Fine."

Golbez fades away in a nebula of spell and shadow. Jecht is watching me. He's waiting for me to tell him where Golbez has gone off to, and why. I'm not going to do either of those things.

I find myself studying the scarred man who was once a warrior of Cosmos, until Mateus had his way. I'm torn between curiosity and suspicion. What if he asked Mateus to do this for him? What if he wanted to be here, even if he doesn't remember it now?

"So," Jecht says to break the silence. "What do you do?" I shoot him a look, and he adds, "You know, your job. Here. How you make yourself useful. If you're useful."

"Genocide."

I wait for him to blink or recoil. I want to find some fragment of his former self. He doesn't even change his expression. "Not much work here for you, then, is there?"

"Not really, no," I respond casually. "So how do you… make yourself useful?"

"I protect people."

"Oh. I see why you're one of Chaos' chosen."

He snorts. "Garland just knows how to make a man feel wanted. Speaking of. Pardon my rudeness, but I don't really see the family resemblance."

"I take after my mother," I respond. His eyebrows raise as if he believes me, so I add, "I'm joking. That would have been Sephiroth. You're better off not looking for any, there's not much to find."

He's looking at me now. Not in the way that Mateus does, and not in the way that Golbez does, but as if he just lost his train of thought and he's hoping I'll bring it back.

"Fight me," he demands. "You're not doing anything better right now, anyways."

I'll blame this on the call to battle we experience when our minds are wiped clean. "No." I cross my arms over my chest and I sit down on the warm stone with plenty of distance between the two of us.

"Come on, I promise I won't break one of your nails or mess up your hair or anything. I'll go easy on you." He stands up and props his sword against the ground like a staff.

"Ooh, you'll go easy on me." I inspect the varnish on my nails just because he mentioned them. "You don't know me very well, so I'll forgive you for not asking me to go easy on you, instead. How about this: I promise not to move from this spot. Do your worst."

"You're pretty confident, aren't you?" He lifts his sword and runs straight for me.

I teleport and appear standing behind him. It takes him one moment too many to catch up and I bind him within a maelstrom.

"I'm a liar," I apologize. But I want to respect the spirit of my promise, so I release him. Our fight quickly settles into the rhythm of a scuffle: he lashes out in a flurry of impressive strikes and punches and grabs, and I dart and teleport out of the way and I only retaliate when he takes too long to find me.

"You gonna show me what you've got or not?" he yells at me. "Or are you just all talk? You're making your old man look bad!"

I pause where I'm floating mid-air and sink to the ground. He scuffs the dirt and kicks up grass as he scrambles to a stop.

"I guess that was the wrong thing to say," he remarks, wiping sweat from his face.

That would be absolutely correct. I set the air on fire.

He ducks. He moves even faster when he's not trying to show off. For the first time, I'm worried about how much taller and stronger he is than me. Not that he'll ever catch me.

I block his sword with my magic. Once, twice, three times, four. Each time he nearly catches me with my guard down, because I'm too busy trying to figure out what Golbez didn't tell me.

"Ready to give in?" he says with an honest-to-goodness smile. There's no malice in his eyes, just the eager rush of adrenaline.

"Talking to yourself?" I reply. "I'm not even warmed up."

"Then what the hell were you playing at earlier? I thought we were saving your tail."

I laugh. He doesn't know why that was funny, though, and he thinks I'm laughing at him. His next swing is more powerful.

"Don't you owe me some gratitude?"

"Why? I never asked for your help."

"What, Garland never taught you how thank-yous work?"

You should deal with your own son before you start meddling in my affairs. I keep this to myself.

"You got something to say, spit it out."

A sphere of out-of-place moonlight snags him and pulls him backwards. No harm done, just enough to trip him up. "If I tell you I'm grateful, will you leave it alone?"

He grins and gathers himself to his feet. He stands up straight like he's just won. I suppose that means our skirmish is over. "So there's more."

I run my fingers through my hair. "Thank you," I snap.

He walks over to me and reaches out his arm as if to clap me on the shoulder. I step back. "Don't," I warn him.

He holds up his hand, pleading innocence. "Whatever," he drawls. Then he studies me. "I should have known this as soon as I looked at you, but you're a weird one, aren't you?" Then he reaches down and ruffles my hair and turns away before I can swat him away.

I seize up. Don't touch me. It's a simple request. "If you do that again I will kill you."

"I've heard worse," he calls over his shoulder.

He makes for the stream nearby. At first I stay where I am, but despite myself, I follow him, lagging behind. I miss Golbez.


	4. Chapter 4

As always, I don't own Final Fantasy.

- Chapter Four -

I used to think I was so unshakeable. I was the distilled perfection of corruption. No one could parallel my degeneration. There's pride in thinking like that, an elusive vanity in knowing you've done nothing to be proud of.

There are varying degrees of complexity amongst the warriors of Chaos. Some, I can evaluate easily, despite their tricks and lies. Some have inner worlds that sink for miles beneath the surface. Without those great, darkened sinking depths, the void grows. It's a void that strips them of their soul until they are perfect.

I know now I wasn't ever like that. Perfect. I was empty, or at least I made myself empty. I didn't give my soul enough credit.

Golbez told Zidane that I would meet him on a rarely trespassed fragment. Warriors of Cosmos and Chaos alike find it jarring to look behind the curtain. Not that there's much to see: milky translucent rubble which formed in the hues of a weakly setting sun, a disappointing dark sky, and an unsettling sense of unfulfilled waiting charged in the stale air. It's sad and barren, and the illusion of the Crystal floating in the gap only makes it more pathetic.

This is the fragment I brought with me.

If only the Crystal were more than a memory. It reminds me of autumn leaves, with the entire green world on fire in a phoenix lullaby of sleep and promised rebirth. Even my words, prettily spun as they are, cannot adequately describe the company of harmony's light. Only now I know better than to expect a promising rebirth.

The condolence of isolation is secure. With no need to maintain any semblance of composure for an audience, I stretch out on the ground, my middle flat against the ground where I stood not so long ago, my wretched self raw and the end of everything a sweet consolation in my head.

Or maybe it was so long ago. Cyclical time is impossible.

I'm not allowing myself to think about what I want to say to Zidane. I'm afraid that I might sound contrived and false if I even begin to write the script. I rest my head against my crossed arms and close my eyes.

My mind wanders to the recesses and hiding places surrounding me. I listen and I hear nothing, but there are spells for that. I begin to weave a barrier of protection in my head when I stop myself. It's all right, I tell myself. It's all right.

I need to do something to get my mind off that offensive being, Mateus.

I wonder what would be the best way to get rid of him. Isn't Firion the last do-gooder from his world? Perhaps I could pull something classic: tell Mateus I've decided to team up with him, arrange for him to meet me somewhere, and then, shock and awe, he will find himself meeting Firion instead.

If only I actually had any faith left in any of Zidane's companions after what happened with Bartz. Mateus would likely slaughter the poor fool, and I would feel guilty. A little.

I could always do it. But I don't want any blood on my hands.

What a coward's excuse. I was once fearless. What happened?

I jolt and twitch into a sitting-up position quicker than I can blink. My tail disappears under my skirt; my hand combs through my wild hair as I look out over the crystal scree and gather myself to my feet.

If I could think of one person I would absolutely not want to be here while I'm waiting for Zidane, it would be Garland. So of course he's the one who disturbs my meditations.

"What do you want?" I ask. I cross my arms over my chest. I need to get rid of him. If Zidane sees me standing here chatting with Garland, who knows what he'll think.

Garland takes a few steps closer to me. To my dismay, he sits down and anchors himself on a translucent boulder. He even takes off his helmet and I see the grizzled old face that defined so many of my cherished childhood memories.

"I want to know what you're scheming with Emperor Mateus."

I roll my eyes. I don't understand why everyone insists on addressing Mateus with that title. There's no empire here for Mateus or anyone. No one reigns here, save for the sacrifice. "You'll have to try harder than that if you want anything near the truth. But no," I assure him, "I'm not scheming anything with him."

"How do I know you're not lying to me?"

"You don't."

"I suppose I don't," he says. Goodness, he looks old. "So I'll take your word for it. I'm glad to hear that you haven't associated yourself with Emperor Mateus, despite his many attempts to woo you. It's in my best interest."

"Why would you tell me that? Now I'm going to go run off and pledge my allegiance to him."

"I would be in trouble if I genuinely believed you hadn't thought of it already. And we both know anyone who receives a pledge of allegiance from you is signing their own death warrant."

"I know, I killed you…"

He sighs almost nostalgically. "Ah, yes. That's what I've come to talk to you about. You're weak after you trance. Won't be long before someone figures that out and takes advantage of that knowledge. Where are Jecht and Golbez?"

I fold my arms over my chest and look away from him. "I don't know what you're talking about." I do my best to sound uninterested.

"You don't have to protect them. Next time, just swallow your pride and thank me."

"I should be thanking you?"

"I was the one who sent them to help you in the first place. I've given them orders to protect you."

So that wasn't a clever ruse. Jecht was telling me the truth.

I don't need his protection. Why would he do that? He must have noticed that gilded tyrant's behavior at the gathering. He couldn't have known what it meant. If he did, why would he even care?

"Why would you start making factions now, of all times, when Cosmos is at her weakest?"

"It doesn't matter if we win," he reminds me, "it only matters if we lose. This was not my doing. Unfortunately, Emperor Mateus and Ultimecia cannot make the same claim."

"That's funny," I say, even though it's not. "You all seemed to be on the same side when you…" I can't bring myself to say it out loud. Even alluding to that harrowing day gives the conversation a taut edge.

I find my gaze drawn to the suspended memory of the Crystal. It's not there anymore, I remind myself silently. It's gone.

Garland gathers himself to his feet. Standing behind me, he places both of his hands on my shoulders. There's the faint clink as metal touches metal. "You should forget about that time."

I shudder as a gasp of cold washes over me. It sinks below my skin and numbs me as it spreads. I've heard it said that when you're really, truly freezing to death, your own body will betray you and convince you to lie down and succumb to your demise.

I should forget about that time.

No. I tear away from his cold grip and turn around. I stare straight through to him. The cold burns away like morning mist in the sun. Old man, you will never win. Magic sparks at my fingertips.

"That's right. You're the one who decides what I should remember and what I should forget. I'm your doll. Except I thought I made it clear that I would no longer be your Angel of Death in this world."

"Cool your heels," he orders me. "When that girl broke free from Kefka, she didn't do it all on her own, did she? She had help. What makes you think you're any different from her?"

I laugh. "And who would have helped me."

"That's lost to the memories you sacrificed to Shinryu, I'm afraid. I have reason to believe you took Sephiroth's path. And with something of the same intent," he says. "You wanted to know if you were truly yourself or just a manikin, even though in your case the two are so similar you were just splitting hairs."

I didn't kill myself. I remember everything he made me do. The worst part is that, once upon a time, I would have done all of it with my own free will. What I don't remember is who helped me. That wasn't even a possibility until he introduced it. He thinks he's so good at taking uncertainty and spinning it into fear.

"You know what's funny about this world," he says then, as if he's thinking aloud. "If you wanted to stop the cycle, you wouldn't kill Shinryu. You would kill Chaos. If you wanted to kill Chaos and take his throne, you wouldn't bother with Chaos. You would kill Shinryu."

"And why are you telling me this."

"I don't know why. I know you've already figured it out."

Obviously. It just isn't really all that relevant to my interests, except for the part about bringing this to an end. If someone kills Shinryu, we can never go home. I'd like it if someone never did that.

"You're not the only one who's thought it through," he says. "Maybe the one who freed you was someone who wanted you all to himself. Or maybe it was just someone who did it for the same reasons you freed Terra. The girl, I mean."

So Garland thinks someone saw me as nothing more than a soulless doll under his control, albeit one powerful enough to pit against Shinryu in a bid for Chaos' worthless throne. That's almost a compliment. Garland thinks that someone was probably…

I'm going to be sick.

"Don't make their job harder than it already is," he warns me. "It would be good for you to go to them and apologize."

When Zidane was once snared by Garland's spell, it was the thought of his friends that brought him back. When I freed Terra, it was because I didn't want to see her used like I had been. If I'm piecing conversation together correctly, Golbez was once forced under similar command in his world. If any warrior of Chaos felt pity for me, it would be him. How does Golbez manage to survive?

Do I possibly owe Golbez an apology?

No. After all, nobody helped me. Garland's theory is just an attempt to unhinge me.

"A little late for that, don't you think? Raising me right. Or trying to raise me at all, for that matter," I tell him. "And one more thing. If you try to turn me back into your Angel of Death again, I will not kill you. I will flay you alive and keep you alive and I will never ever let you die because no matter how much I will torture you, you will never experience even a taste of the living hell you wrought for me—"

"Spare me your theatrics," he interrupts me. "Save it for someone who hasn't heard it all a hundred times before."

"No! You'll hear me out. Cloud and Terra are now reborn as warriors of Cosmos. You allowed them that ounce of free will. Your chosen Angel is wandering around like an idiot and not once in all of these eternities have you ever tried to reclaim him."

"He was perfect in that other world because he gave me hope that I would see my home, as it was, one more time before I allowed myself to die."

Poor, poor Garland. Cosmos and Chaos both weep for you.

"Here, there is no hope. Here, Kuja, you are perfect."

I don't think I wanted to hear him say that to me, after all.

"Where's that temper of yours lately? It's almost as if someone's taken the spirit out of you. I expected you to storm off half a dozen times by now, and here you are, holding your ground."

If only.

"Your brother isn't coming. I was the one Golbez spoke to, not Zidane."

"I'm sorry?"

"Your brother isn't coming."

Oh. Well. As he said, I stood my ground, at least. That's more than I honestly expected out of myself. And what did I expect, really? For Golbez to help me just because I asked? It's a wonder anyone ever relies on anyone else, whether a warrior of Cosmos or a warrior of Chaos. I only need to rely on myself. It's worked flawlessly so far.

"You're worried about me," I say. He begins to object and I shake my head. "Not me personally. As a game piece. You came to me and you attempted to eliminate an uncertainty—my free will—from the board. When that didn't work, you went out of your way to remind me that the allies you gave me are yours, not mine. Why don't you just go ahead and confess that it's not Cosmos who has you worried this time around?"

I've shaken him. Good. "If you know something," he begins.

"I'm only saying that in the past, you turned a blind eye to the ones you thought were beneath you, and that's when they finally beat you. That's the advice I have for you, old man."

"I can't decide if you're trying to tell me to watch you or to watch the forces of Cosmos. When I think about it that way, maybe I should have let you scheme your petty schemes. Then I would only have to keep my eyes on one place."

With a superior chuckle, he fits his helmet over his head and walks away. Why couldn't he just let me have the last word? Now it doesn't even matter that I got rid of him. Like before, I've come to this place for nothing.

If I never trusted Golbez anyways, why do I care about his betrayal? Garland asked him to protect me and that's precisely what he did. I never asked for anyone's help. Except I did ask him for help, just this once, and this is how he helped me. We weren't close, but I'd like to think that between Garland and me, his loyalties would fall with me. I was better off with Kefka. At least then, I knew I could never let my guard down.

I need to stop. This is what Garland wants and I cannot, under any circumstances, bow down and give him what he wants. I will reach Zidane, no matter who tries to stop me.

I need to find Bartz. He could be anywhere. The prospect sinks my spirits and not even my hatred for Garland can invigorate me.

Golbez and Jecht will be looking for me. Depending on Garland's strategy this cycle, others might be free to follow or watch me. I have no idea if I'm playing directly into someone's hands. It's not a familiar feeling and I don't like that in the least, but there's nothing I can do about it.

I leave the illusion of the Crystal and head south towards the unofficial border between our two territories. As I I try to make sense of Garland's half-spoken worries. I'm flattered, but I can't believe anyone thinks I'm powerful enough to defeat Shinryu. I couldn't even defeat Chaos. I don't stand a chance against the beast that controls the laws of this world.


	5. Chapter 5

As always, I don't own Final Fantasy.

- Chapter Five -

It has been three days and I haven't run into another soul. The manikins stalk me just out of sight, but they scurry away into their hiding places as soon as I face them. In a way, I'm comforted by their behavior. They don't know what I am.

I can describe my surroundings without once looking at them, from exact number of weeds sprouting along the bank like tufts of feathers, to the level of snowmelt in the streams. It's always the same.

"So you're quiet. Something's on your mind."

I want to take his invitation and fold it into a thorn. There's always something on my mind. Luckily, thinking is a problem you'll never have to experience. "Zidane," I say softly instead. I stand still. "I've faced Chaos before. I faced him alone. You don't know what it means to me, to have you with me now."

It's a line I've said before, word for word, but if it sounds familiar, he doesn't comment on it. "That was unexpectedly honest. I'm sorry I don't have anything better to say than that I'm glad to hear it. But Chaos. I don't even know what to ask first. When did that happen?"

"A long time ago. It was towards the end of the first cycle." I fold my arms over my chest. The sun may be warm, but the wind has a sharp bite.

"You didn't waste any time, did you?" He laughs and snaps the top off a stalk of grass. He sits down. "You know, I don't really remember the first cycle. When did you have time to go face off with Chaos? Weren't you kind of busy being stuck under Garland's spell?"

I sit down beside him. He casually throws a piece of grass at me. It gets stuck in my hair. I glare at him as I comb my hair through with my fingers. In revenge, I throw a little spark his way, nothing more than static electricity, really.

"Hey! Magic is off limits."

"It was before that." I curl my legs into my chest and rest my head on my knees. I could lie. I could still lie to him, and no one would ever know any different. But I don't.

"In the beginning, I was in control of my own body. It wasn't until later that I allowed him to turn me into his doll."

"You what? Who the hell are you, and what did you do with my brother."

My next words are softer than the wind, drier than the grass, emptier than the sky. "I killed you."

He sits up. "You wanna run that by me again?"

"You don't remember the first cycle because I killed you. You were only trying to help me regain my memory. And, well, you succeeded. Don't think you didn't. I didn't know you'd be brought back. I just knew you were gone and you were the only person who'd ever—" He doesn't need to hear that. He already knows. "I had nothing left."

He doesn't say anything for a long, long time. He gives me a heavy sigh as he plucks another stalk of grass from the earth. He peels off the grains, one by one, and lets them fall to the ground. "So you decided to take it up with Chaos himself. That doesn't really surprise me."

"It didn't work out nearly as well as I hoped it would."

He laughs wearily. "Neither does that."

"In the end, it was Garland who gave me a way out. I agreed." Agreed is not the right word.

"You willingly became his Angel of Death." There's no particular way he says it. He might have been talking about the shapes of the clouds in the sky.

I want to take this conversation and pull on a single thread, as if that would unravel it. He lied to me, I protest silently. I was awake the entire time. Everything you've heard, I remember it, and I couldn't stop myself any better than you could. If only I can bring myself to say it aloud.

He darts in front of me and grabs my shoulders. He won't let me look away from him. "You gave in."

"You're supposed to be angry that I killed you."

"You think I dragged you out of the Iifa Tree just so you could let Garland win?"

"What does any of that matter now, anyways?"

"All of it matters! Those were your choices and your life. Everything you destroyed. All those people you killed. You can't ever make up for that, but how could you even begin to justify—no, even make sense of half the things you did if you turned right around and handed your free will over to Garland. There's a life we're going back to someday, someday real soon. How can you throw all that away and give yourself up—"

I can't do this anymore. If this is how this goes inside my head, imagine what a disaster I will be when I finally find Zidane and tell him the truth. If I were him, I wouldn't believe me. I had plenty of time for confessions the last time we fought side by side. Instead I played one part to him and another part to the forces of Chaos, while he waited for me to give him even the slightest inclination he could trust me without question. In return for his patience, I betrayed his trust and severed our ties. Of course my next move would be to come back to him with some heart-wrenching fabrication, playing on his sympathy.

A wounded cry lances through the early evening. I freeze for an instant before I realize I'm standing in plain sight. I duck behind the ruin of a proud gate collapsed beyond repair.

At once I see Jecht's son, Tidus, bent over double in the dry hollow of a shallow bank. His blood seeps dark into the coarse gravel. Above him, a quicksilver gleam of silver and black. I must have seen the manikin's coloration incorrectly in the twilight. I stand up to get a better look.

No, I wasn't mistaken. The light would have caught the manikin's crystalline form with a flash. I saw a black leather coat, harsh silver hair, and the patient luster of a very, very long blade.

I'm no longer important to Cloud. I wonder if that's enough to keep me uninteresting. Something tells me Sephiroth's mind doesn't work like that. I pray he didn't see me.

A strained gasp pulls me out of my thoughts. I'd almost forgotten about Tidus.

Even if I didn't hold Jecht's involvement with Golbez against him, I still wouldn't have any reason to help him. I could let him die, or I could kill him. I'd be doing him a favor, really. I would also be doing myself a favor. If I interfered with him, there would be one warrior of Cosmos who knew I wasn't where I should be.

He could be useful, though. At the very least, I could have him confirm it was Sephiroth and not just a manikin. If I like his answer, maybe I'll save his life.

I'm sure Zidane would appreciate it if I did things the other way around. So with Tidus' best interests and a ghost of guilt in mind, I step out from my hiding place and go to his side. I place my hand on his shoulder just as his body goes slack.

He looks up at me. "You're… pretty…" he murmurs half-coherently. I don't think he even understands I'm technically his enemy.

"That's what everyone tells me." Healing magic wells up in my hands. My magic is not gentle magic, so I warn him, "This is going to hurt."

He grits his teeth and breathes in as if the air could tear his throat. Before another cry can escape his lips, I cover his mouth with my palm. No need for Sephiroth's attention to be brought back here.

"Shhh. Don't you fret." My other hand presses the wound in his midsection. I spend an eternity trapping his life where it hangs in the balance. Too slowly for my liking, his insides knit back together and I clean away the excess blood.

"Now tell me who did this to you. Was it Sephiroth?"

Confusion furrows his brow. He doesn't look a thing like Jecht.

"A man," I elaborate. "A tall man with hair as bright as mine, wearing a long black coat and tall boots. His eyes are an odd green—"

Tidus vaguely nods.

"Why did he harm you?"

"I—" he begins. He shakes his head. "I don't know, I hardly even knew he was there before he—" There is a brief moment of clarity in his eyes. "Who are you, anyways? I've never seen you before… you're a dude…"

I place the suggestion of sleep in my touch and I brush his hair out of his face. He responds to it readily.

"Thank you," I tell him. "You've done remarkably well. You should rest now." And so should I. Bringing someone half back from the grave can send you there instead. I can't stay here, though. I rise to my feet. My limbs shake.

"Where…?" he calls out, hardly coherent.

"Where am I going? Nowhere far," I assure him. I don't want him to be seen with me, but I would feel less terrible if I didn't abandon him before he found his way back to his comrades. He closes his eyes and I summon together the dregs of my strength to form a barrier of protection around him. It's closer to camouflage than anything else. Anyone who isn't looking for him won't find him unless they physically trip over him.

Jecht owes me a favor.

I don't want to waste the last of my strength, so I walk back to the ruined gate. My legs fold under me. The barrier I cast isn't nearly as good as the one masking Tidus, but the people who are looking for me would see right through anything I could create at this point anyways. I shift so I'm hidden in the shadows formed by the swiftly rising moon. I curl up on my side and listen anxiously to the night.

My thoughts stray to Sephiroth, making it very difficult for me to fade into sleep. He was always a puzzle I never cared to solve. It was Cloud who taught me to fear him, Cloud who gave meaning to those times I found Sephiroth examining me as if he'd trapped me under a microscope. Cloud told me of a Sephiroth I've never known, a champion as handsome as he was blissfully ignorant. Did Garland want someone like Sephiroth from Zidane and me this entire time? Does it sting for him to look at Sephiroth, knowing he never got it right?

I don't believe I could ever be Sephiroth. Not of my own free will. Neither could Zidane. If we were never given the chance to grow up away from Garland's influence, though, who's to say what we would have become?

I'm sifting through the dredges now. I grasp at the broken stories Cloud told me and tumble down my own imagined versions of his erratic memories. I wander through my rough sketches of his drained and colorless world until I find darkness and fire. Sephiroth's silhouette swells with the flames and grows into something darker, bigger, a creature that doesn't have his back turned on me but looks over me like I'm nothing more than an insect. His eyes glitter with the crushed remains of extinguished stars and in those eyes I fall through space and time and my own inconsequential despair.

I'm awake. The moon is high, an opal obscured by smoke.

Surely my heartbeat is loud enough to wake Tidus. I check on him, but he's sound asleep. The barrier flickers but remains whole. I wasn't worried about him. I just wanted something to do. I disappear behind the ruined gate and I bring my knees into my chest. I lean against the worn stone, draining away its coolness and letting it sink through my clothes and under my skin.

I remember a time when I didn't remember anything. In that ecstatic freedom, I was my true and shameless self. Without the burden of my past, I was scarcely human. I extinguished the beacons of harmony and light with a gleeful laugh that could freeze Chaos' fires. I relished the look of horror in their eyes as I licked their friends' and lovers' blood from my nails. Turmoil and victory were thrown onto the scales of order and chaos with no care for the weight of my heart.

I was so happy until the nightmares began. We weren't told we would regain our memories. It was everyone's own private journey. So it seemed to me that while everyone else was growing more eager to match my example, I faltered. In my dreams a delicate blue world shattered at my touch. When I was awake, crumbling towers and dying armies would arrest me and leave me breathless. I was haunted by a resentment I could not place and a sense of entitlement that didn't know what it deserved. In short, I was convinced I was going insane.

During one battle on a snowy plain, Garland pulled me aside. He tugged his cloak around himself in defense against the blizzard while I stood there, not feeling the biting cold on my skin and the snowflakes kissing my hair. He placed one hand on my shoulder and pointed down the ridge. He didn't speak five words before an inexplicable rage cut me through like the icy wind. He had never done anything to make me disrespect his leadership, but suddenly I defied his orders with scorn.

It was as if there was another voice in my head besides my own. It comforted me. Everything I endured was all worth it for some unnamed final goal. Everything was almost over. Soon I wouldn't have to pretend. I could be my true self. Only, I wasn't pretending and I didn't care if everything was almost over. I lived for the rush of battle. There was no greater goal.

Zidane wasn't even a suggestion in my mind until he earned himself some notoriety amongst the warriors of Chaos. It was embarrassing. Here was this half-sized scrap of a rogue who single-handedly challenged Garland, time after time. He never won, but he never lost, either. Garland said nothing to me, but the others who had seen him in battle started comparing my strange magic to his.

I was curious and I wanted a challenge. I didn't expect him to fight me so viciously. In the end, though, of course I won. I could have killed him then as a favor to Garland, but I felt sorry for him. He made it clear I was his sworn enemy, and I couldn't have been bothered to get his name right half the time. I was too busy thinking about myself. Only the gods know how long I would have pressed on in that trembling twilight if he hadn't challenged me again.

He evoked a pain that sunk into my heart like a knife. I struggled with whispers of loneliness and a neurotic awareness of my own countless flaws. I didn't know how, but I knew he was the reason I felt all of this. I thought that if I defeated him, I would return to my true self. I just wanted him to go away.

My dreams changed. I wandered a bright and hopeful world recovering from unknown ruin. In that world I was no one's instrument of death. I travelled across the continents with a half-familiar figure by my side. I knew he was my brother and I owed him my life, and I owed the world more than I could possibly give.

I ran away from everyone who demanded my loyalty. I owed them nothing. I didn't see another soul for weeks. I had nearly come to terms with my confusing but comforting memories when Zidane ruined it all.

"There you are. I've been looking for you everywhere." There was a hesitant kindness in his voice that was foreign to me, except in dreams. I raised magic against him and my brother's face suddenly came to me, as if I'd known it all along.

I dropped my arms. I refused to fight him, even if the only gentleness he'd shown me was within the confines of my own dreams. He was the one who pushed me. He was the one who insisted I needed to remember everything I'd done.

Looking back, it's easy to understand what happened. He remembered the events that brought us together in the right order. I didn't. He sought retribution he couldn't secure until I was aware of my immeasurable crimes. He remembered why he forgave me in the same moment I recalled why I wore the clothes I did, why I hid my tail, and why I hated Garland.

I didn't mean to kill him. I swear.

When I heard Chaos' summons, I saw no point in ignoring them any further. I returned to Chaos' shrine. Garland was there to reclaim his Angel of Death.

"Well. You got what you wanted," he said to me.

I hadn't spoken since I lost Zidane. I shook my head. "No," I said roughly. "I didn't."

"What a brat. As soon as you get what you want, you don't want it anymore."

"You made us," I said. Accusation resounded harsh and unforgiving in that faithless hall. "Why did he care about me? What good could such an instinct possibly serve? And how would that have made him a better Angel of Death than me?"

He was silent.

"What are we doing here? What am I even fighting for?"

"What are you going to do now," he said with a condescending sigh. "Do you remember the tantrum you threw the last time you lost your direction? Do you remember how little good it did you? You bring destruction and war. You desire change, but you seek nothing, and you achieve nothing. You can hope for nothing."

"It's true," I replied. I laughed, and then I was quiet. I wasn't crying. I remember that specifically.

"So tell me." I rose to my feet. "How do I end it this time, dear father? Who do I tear apart? You? Cosmos?" I peered into his eyes. No, that wasn't the answer. "Chaos," I said with a slow smile. "I kill Chaos."

I left the shrine. He didn't make an attempt to stop me.

The path I travelled was long, but true. I followed the sickly red glow on the horizon, a glow that was a beacon to me night and day. As the snow and the rivers and the trees and the grass fell away, the air left the taste of dust and charcoal in my mouth. The terrain grew harsh. Then even the weak sun and the shallow moon abandoned me, and there was only the abstract flush of Chaos' flames.

I should have seen Chaos' throne further off, but that wasn't how it worked. I got lost. Even with the razor-edged mountains to guide me, I wandered in circles, or at least I thought I did. One day I realized I wasn't getting any closer to them and I just sunk to my knees. I was finished. I turned my head to the side, as if I'd heard someone whispering in my ear, and there he was.

"Here you are," he said. I had never seen him with my own eyes, but I couldn't say I was surprised by his loathsome form. He was an echo, a memory. I saw him and it was if I were being reminded, yes, of course, this is who was waiting for me all along.

He didn't even move from his throne. He simply studied me, one monstrous palm under his chin, as if I were some curiosity carried in by the searing wind. I could have stood there for a moment, or for an eternity. He knew every shadow in my heart and he knew why I was there. Eventually he gave a low chuckle and I realized he was mocking my hesitation.

I had no problem with him treating me like some insignificant thing. I delighted in the thought of turning his ego into his downfall. I set off a constellation of deliberately weak bursts of light. My magic was white and pure, but without heart.

He rose and whipped me with spun hellfire. I panicked and flickered away. Even though I've always been fast enough to escape anything I've wanted to escape, the fire lashed my cheek. I smelled my own charred flesh. The pain singed my skin but ate straight into my soul like acid. I refused to give him the satisfaction of hearing me cry. He'd already had enough opportunity.

I laughed. It was a mad laugh that should have carried and echoed grandly, but here it was piteous and small, as if I were the only one who could hear my pathetic act.

As our battle settled into its terrifying rhythm, I felt sure I had convinced Chaos my abilities were only a fraction of what I knew they were. I withstood his attacks with only feigned difficulty. Too late it occurred to me he had turned me into his plaything, and he was quickly becoming bored with me. Chaos' hand darted out and plucked me from the air. His claws formed bars around me. I was trapped in his grasp like a butterfly. He held me up to his face, peering at me with the inquisitive nature of a child.

"Little angel," he murmured to me. His voice was an avalanche. "Why do you challenge me? What grievance of yours is so important to this battle that you have the gall to come before me? Do I need to remind you that you were made for me?"

"I was not made for you," I replied through clenched teeth. "Garland created me. Why don't you ask him how this type of conversation tends to go?"

He somehow found this humorous. He laughed smugly, as if there were something I didn't know.

"You were created to spark the fires of discord and hatred. You deal in death and wronged souls. You are but one of my instruments."

"It's your job to take proper care of your instruments, then, isn't it?" I summoned magic into my palms. Since I was trapped, I diverted it into the air before me. Lightning snapped between his eyes.

He dropped me and howled in pain. I didn't catch my fall perfectly. I landed on my ankle and it rolled under me as I stumbled. The rock scoured my palms and bare skin. My sleeves were torn and streaked with ashes.

Tongues of flame licked at my ankles as I struggled to my feet. He chuckled and pulled me to my feet. He pinched my arm between two fingers and twisted it. I bit down, hard, on my lower lip.

"You scorn me and renounce me, and yet when you've lost everything you care about, I'm the one you blame. I'm the one who should be shown sympathy, if all my champions are as faithful as you."

"I never asked to be your champion!" I sent a river of light through my body into his. He found my attempts at genuine holy magic amusing. He released me.

"Your obsession with the illusion of free will is the source of your pain. Have you ever considered the possibility that your vessel and soul are not the only manufactured components of your being? Has the thought occurred to you that everything from your memories to your troublesome tendency towards rebellion was also constructed?"

The host of souls murmured inside of me. They rejected his words. They were real. Their bottled pain was true. Despite this, I couldn't help but imagine my path as if he were right. Why would anyone, even a god, do something so pointless and cruel?

My fears coupled with the anguish of the souls inside of me. It coursed through me, leaving me ragged and raw. I felt as if I were about to burn to a cinder. I buckled beneath the weight on my heart.

As the power within me caught alight, an answer came to me. Before me stood a tragic god who desired an end. That much, I could understand. "Then you wanted me to do this all along, didn't you?"

With an ecstatic lightheadedness I struck Chaos with the very anger he fed upon. Light scalded my veins and blistered my throat. This was the power that would have shattered the Crystal itself. Spent and released, I floated to the ground, light as a feather. A sobbing sigh of relief escaped me.

"Zidane," I said softly to myself. I wanted to do more. Freeing this world from the oppression of my own abhorrent god, though, was a start. I closed my eyes and, oddly enough, what came to me was a prayer.

I doubted Cosmos would hear me. I could only do good through destruction and death. I would never earn a place by her side. I only sought her recognition. I wanted to know that she knew my name. I wanted to hear her say my name with compassion. That was all.

Chaos flung me against his throne. I had just enough magic to save myself from being killed as I struck the stone, but I still landed hard. I lay there, wretched. I took in hollow, shallow gasps. Pain pierced my sides whenever I attempted to expand my lungs any further.

I was spent, but I summoned the remnants of my magic. I put my body back together again. I was proud of myself when I staggered to my feet. It was a weightless pride I only felt in my memories, when I stood by Zidane's side.

"I'll have to break that backbone of yours, won't I?" Chaos mused.

I believed my second wind was Cosmos' blessing. I was such a fool.

I never endured anything like the torture Chaos inflicted on me. I tried to be strong. I kept my resolve close, closer than I believed Chaos could ever reach. He found it.

I had a revelation. I couldn't succeed. Of course I couldn't. I had gone about this whole endeavor the wrong way. It wouldn't do to kill Chaos, no. I had nothing to return to after this and no one to take care of me. Someone else needed to die.

My body went slack. Just when I closed my eyes and welcomed the final blow, Chaos stopped. He returned to his seat.

I crumbled at the foot of Chaos' throne. He leaned forward and lifted my chin with a single claw. As I stared into the darkness burning in his eyes, he drew his claw across my throat like a caress, tormenting me with the unfulfilled threat of death.

"Where's that sharp tongue of yours?"

My mouth is filled with the copper taste of my own blood. My breath collapsed into a whimper. Satisfied, he brushed my singed and bloodied hair out of my face.

"I need not command you to play this world's requiem for eternity. Your own despair will dance you into the darkness, time and time again."

He released me. "Garland. Take your pretty whelp out of my sight."

At the sound of Garland's name, I dragged myself an inch out of the dirt. Who knew how long he had been watching the spectacle.

"Devour him," Garland said behind me. "Put him out of his misery. It's all he's desired since you summoned him."

"No." The ground trembled with the force of that simple word.

I heard the steady tread of Garland's boots over the gravel. "I've never known you to be cruel," he said softly as he stood over me.

"I've learned."

Without another word, Garland picked me up like a rag doll. I'm not sure whether I passed out or if I simply went somewhere else, but I next remember being set down on the red threadbare carpet of Chaos' Shrine. I couldn't even sit up without his hand to support me.

"Can you take care of yourself, or do you need me to put you back together again?" Garland wanted to know.

That was the last time I felt something more than hatred for my father. "I just want to go to sleep," I confided.

He gathered me up into his arms. I felt nothing besides the cold touch of metal, but it was more than I ever expected anyone to show me. "I can help you with that," he said to me, and I ached for kindness so much that I gasped back a sob.

"No. You can't," I insisted. "It will never end. Not for me. I will never be allowed to stop fighting. That's all I'm wanted for." A sad laugh cracked in my throat. "Remember when you told me I was mortal? Remember when I believed you? When I wanted to live forever, and when I wanted my brother to die—all of that happened, didn't it?" I demanded from him. "Terra and Gaia were real. My memories are more than just…" I couldn't continue.

"It's true," he said to me. "It will never end for any of Chaos' favorites. But I can do something for you. I can offer you relief, because you are my creation. I cannot remove your vessel or your soul from battle, but I can take on your burden. Your body will still fight," he said," but you will sleep for all eternity."

There was solace in his words. I never thought I would be relieved to hear Garland admit he created me. Chaos' taunts about the nature of my creation were empty. There was no kindness or sympathy in Garland's ancient eyes when I looked up at him. I should have relied on my memories of Garland instead. But I trusted him. "Please," I begged.

I let the cold blue light take me. I waited for it to drag my senses under and envelop me in its comforting numbness. Instead, I found myself rising to my feet despite my wounds. Garland cast healing magic over my form with detached attention and mechanical care. He looked into my eyes as if there wasn't anyone looking back, as if I wasn't screaming at him from the depths of my soul. He sent me back out onto the battlefield with my lips sealed and my newly-white clothes already dragging through the dirt.

I'm not sure how much was memory and how much was dream. I don't even stir until voices wake me a little after dawn. Drunk on sleep and chilled through by the morning mist, I hug my arms to my chest but otherwise remain still. The barriers I cast hadn't survived the night.

"No, I'm telling you, it wasn't Cecil." If Tidus has the energy to talk that loudly, he must have made a full recovery. "He had messy silver hair. And, uh, delicate features."

Slowly, I sit up. I see the top of a bow and a bright bandanna. "Sounds like Cecil to me," says Firion skeptically.

"No. Cecil's built. This guy was… he was a mage."

"Cecil's older brother's a mage, and he's easily two of you," replies Firion. "It simply doesn't sound plausible that a warrior of Chaos stumbled upon you and saved your life in return for nothing. And if it wasn't Cecil, then it was absolutely a warrior of Chaos. I think I know which one you described, but why he would bother…"

At this point, I have to admit I have an ulterior motive. Well, another one. A small part of me hopes I will be able to put up with Tidus long enough to follow him as he shares his implausible story with his friends. It would lead me to Zidane or Bartz eventually, or better yet, lead them to me.

Something crushes the grass a few strides away from me. I hardly have time to be alarmed or angry. Jecht moves with the unexpected fluidity of a jungle cat and is soon kneeling by my side. "What are we doing?" he mutters under his breath. He tilts his head to catch Firion's voice better. "They're talking about you."

I know that, thanks. I place my finger over my lips. _You have some nerve showing up here and pretending to be casual with me,_ I tell him.

"Hey wait a second—"

_Shut up! You don't need to talk._

"Good morning to you too," he hisses. "What are you even talking about? You're the one that ran off—"

_Again, do me a favor and shut up._ _As much as I'm willing to believe this playing-dumb routine of yours, I know that if Golbez weren't feeling guilty, he would be here instead of you._

"What's Golbez got to be guilty about?" Jecht asks as Firion helps Tidus to his feet. Does he really not know?

Jecht bounces thoughtlessly on the balls of his feet as we watch them leave. He wants to fight Tidus, but he doesn't know why. I know that feeling. He shrugs it off as soon as they're out of sight. "You saved that kid's life. That's what I got out of that. Didn't think you'd be the type. What'd you get out of it?"

"The satisfaction of knowing I'd done something good in this world." I stand up and stretch. "So Golbez isn't with you?"

Jecht shakes his head. "We split up so we'd have a better chance of finding you. You're a headache, you know that?"

You don't know the half of it. "Tell me. Was there anything familiar about that young man? It seemed like you recognized him. I know I recognized something. That symbol tattooed on your chest, to start. He wears it too."

Jecht glares at me. "What're you getting at?"

"I'm saying you never found me."

His glare goes blank. "I'm not following you."

"No," I agree. "You're not. Would you rather satisfy your curiosity, or take me back to Chaos territory against my will? I promise to be quite the headache," I add with a smirk. "All I want to do is find my brother. Can you deny me that?"

"Garland told us specifically to deny you that," he answers.

"Just as he specifically didn't tell you your son was on the other side? Does the name Tidus even mean anything to you yet, or is that weapon of yours just for show?"

He lashes out and pulls me close by the front of my jacket. "Now you're making stuff up," he insists, but he wouldn't be so furious unless he knew, somewhere sleeping deep inside, I was telling him the truth.

"Technically, you would still be doing your job," I say sweetly. "I have no idea where my brother could be, so I'd planned on following those two. Care to join me?"

He lets go and shoves me back a couple of paces. "Let's get going already," he growls.

I straighten my jacket. Not exactly as planned, but close enough.


End file.
